32 Days
by Mamz'elle Bll
Summary: What if Adolin locked himself in with Kaladin instead of a different cell. Kadolin.
1. Day 1: In the cage

This is a first in Stormlight Archives for me and it's also unbetad (feel free to comment if you want to beta further chapters!).All constructive criticism and/or advice and/or comment about general appreciation is extremely appreciated.

Also, the first two chapters are every much inspired of Kaladin's time in prison in Words of Radiance, in fact, a great part of those two chapters belong to the book, they are here to set the mood. Credits Brandon Sanderson. The story in itself starts in chapter 3, with Adolin's arrival.

* * *

Day 1: In the cage

Kaladin

This is what comes of trusting lighteyes, Kaladin thought as he reached Dalinar's camp prison, where soldiers did time for fighting or other offenses. It was a small, nearly windowless building with thick walls. Inside, in an isolated section, Kaladin was placed in a cell. The cell itself wasn't particularly large, but it wasn't small either. It consisted of a long rectangle, separated in two by large steel bars. Kaladin was placed in the farther part of the cell, where a large stone bench acted as a bed. He figured the unused part of the room on the other side of the bars could serve as a hall for visitors, something which allowed people to see prisoners while making sure said prisoners were still very much in cage.

Although there was a small window up near the ceiling, there was barely any light in the room. The window itself seem to overlook a sheltered courtyard, inside the prison itself. Having a rooftop over the courtyard explained the possibility of a window itself, which would fill the cell with water during highstorms that way.

The bottom of the opening was the same level as the ground outside. For a second, old reflexes kicked in and Kaladin wondered if he could escape that way. The window itself was probably just large enough to let him pass if he happened to be able to climb up there, but three of the same large steel bars also blocked the opening. And even outside of his cell, he would still be in the prison. He sighed. If he wanted to escape, he should have done it earlier. Before any guards touched him after Elhokar spoke. Storming man. He had been a free man. How could they imprison him so easily after a few words from one man? A lighteyes was all it took to make him a captain, another one to strip it away from him. He should have expected this.

He sat down on a stone bench, waiting, until Syl finally drifted into the room.

\- Never, Kaladin said, looking at her, never again, Syl.

\- Kaladin . . .

He closed his eyes, turning and lying down on the cold stone bench.

He was in a cage once again.


	2. Day 2: Prison Life

This is a first in Stormlight Archives for me and it's also unbetad (feel free to comment if you want to beta further chapters!).All constructive criticism and/or advice and/or comment about general appreciation is extremely appreciated.

Also, the first two chapters are every much inspired of Kaladin's time in prison in Words of Radiance, in fact, a great part of those two chapters belong to the book, they are here to set the mood. Credits Brandon Sanderson. The story in itself starts in chapter 3, with Adolin's arrival.

* * *

Day 2: Prison Life

Kaladin

Kaladin had never been in prison before. Cages, yes. Pits. Pens. Under guard in a room. Never a proper prison. Perhaps that was because prisons were too nice. He had two blankets, a pillow, and a chamber pot... So far, they fed him far better than he'd ever been fed as a slave. The stone shelf wasn't the most comfortable bed, but with the blankets, it wasn't too bad. All in all, the room was very nice. And he hated it.

In the second part of the room, on the other side of the bars, guards placed a new lamp every day and removed it at night.

\- I might be able to get close enough to suck that Light out, he said to Syl. It's only a little farther than the Parshendi were when I drew the Light from their gemstones.

\- Then what? Syl asked, voice small.

Good question.

\- Would you help me break out, if I wanted to?

\- Do you want to?

\- I'm not sure.

He turned around, still standing, and rested his back against the bars.

\- I might need to. Breaking out would be against the law, though.

She lifted her chin.

\- I'm no highspren. Laws don't matter; what's right matters.

\- On that point, we agree.

\- But you came willingly, Syl said. Why would you leave now?

\- I won't let them execute me.

\- They're not going to. You heard Dalinar.

\- Dalinar can go rot. He let this happen.

\- He tried to—

\- He let it happen! Kaladin snapped, turning and slamming his hands against the bars.

Another storming cage. He was right back where he'd begun!

\- He's the same as the others, Kaladin growled.

Syl zipped over to him, coming to rest between the bars, hands on hips.

\- Say that again.

\- He . . .

Kaladin turned away. Lying to her was hard.

\- All right, fine, he admitted. He's not. But the king is. Admit it, Syl. Elhokar is a terrible king. At first he lauded me for trying to protect him. Now, at the snap of his fingers, he's willing to execute me. He's a child.

\- Kaladin, you're scaring me.

\- Am I? You told me to trust you, Syl. When I jumped down into the arena, you said this time things would be different. How is this different?

Syl didn't answer. Instead, she gave him a strange look for a time before swirling and changing into a simple ray of vaguely grey light, looking like a regular wind spren.

He hated this room. It made him feel trapped. Storms, he **was** trapped! Soon, it would make him go crazy, he knew. What was a man to do, alone, in a room with nothing in it? Sulking wasn't going to get him anywhere, but it seems that at this point, nothing would get him anywhere. He wanted to fight, but there was nothing to fight again. He wanted to run, but there was nowhere to run to. Only two days and already, he could no longer take it.

He punched the wall in frustration, but he didn't even leave a mark and only hurt this middle finger, which started bleeding lightly. He breathed in to suck in stormlight and heal himself, but he had no pouch, no spheres, no nothing and nothing happened. He wanted to yell, but he couldn't allow himself to do such stupid useless thing so fast. Two days. Who knows, he could get out sooner than he thought. A week maybe. He hadn't killed anyone after all. No need to make them think he was going crazy and dangerous in there.

He sat down.

 _You'd better keep your word, Dalinar. Get me out. Soon._


	3. Day 3: Arrival

Hoorrayy! The wonderful wonderful Kai/3351 read over my chapter to edit it and she has been extremely helpful. I can't thank her enough. Enjoy!

All constructive criticism and/or advice and/or comment about general appreciation is extremely appreciated.

Also, yey! The story begiiiiins!

* * *

Kaladin – Adolin

On the third day of his imprisonment, Kaladin heard a disturbance from further inside the prison, beyond his chamber. He stood up, ignoring Syl, who sat on an invisible bench on his wall. What was that shouting? It echoed in from the hallway. He could hear steps coming his way. Could he be getting out so soon? He couldn't help but smile.

A jailer twisted a key in the lock of the wooden door at the far end of the cell and pulled it open. Adolin Kholin— wearing a simple tight uniform—stepped in. There was a lot of yelling involved and the whole situation was confusing. Adolin? In here? Did the king throw him in a cell too because he assumed Adolin was responsible for Kaladin's actions? That didn't make sense.

Why was everyone so agitated? With all the voices, Kaladin could barely make out any logical sentences. He could swear he heard Adolin demanding to be locked in Kaladin's cell. Nonsense. However, the guard obeyed, approached the steel bars and ordered Kaladin to retreat at towards the stone bench before opening the door joined to the bars to let Adolin in. Surely Dalinar was sending some news via his son.

All of this definitely confused Kaladin. If he wanted to talk the blond could very well have done it through the bars. After all, the further he was from lighteyes, the better. Was it so important for lighteyes to speak face to face? Was this worth throwing such a fuss? High ranked lighteyes really had weird mannerisms.

The guard secured the steel bars back in place and left the room, locking the door behind him. What did Adolin wish to say to him that required him to stand in the cell with him? Kaladin figured Dalinar wouldn't want the guards to know he disapproved of the king's decision to imprison Kaladin ; but sending Adolin into the cell just to speak with him… seemed a bit overdone. Although Dalinar was a cautious man. Maybe it was the only condition to leave someone alone with Kaladin. Still, he would much have preferred to speak with Dalinar himself than with his hot-headed son. After the guard left, silence returned. Syl wandered around Adolin head, examining him.

The princeling took a deep breath, then turned toward Kaladin and nodded slowly. He didn't look in such a good shape. From what Kaladin could see from his posture, the left side of his stomach probably caused him great pain, as he was careful not to move it around too much. Plus, one of his fingers was completely blue. Had he been fighting?

"So, what are you here for?" Kaladin asked.  
"It didn't seem right, you in here," Adolin said, eyes forward. "I thought I would lock myself in with you until they let you out. That should accelerate the process."  
"WHAT?"

This had to be the stupidest idea he had ever heard. Adolin Kholin, putting himself in prison willingly for some dark eyes! It was unheard of. Kaladin fixed Adolin with wide, surprised eyes. The other man was staring at him, the hint of a smug smile perking at the corner of his lips. Was he content? Proud? Surely, he misunderstood what prison actually was. Or maybe this was all a game to him. What a dumb, spoiled, idiotic prince. Didn't he have anything better to do with his time? Something actually useful? There was a storming war going on! Kaladin shrug his shoulders, turned around towards the stone bench and grumbled:

"Do as you wish. But don't expect me to lend you my bed or anything."  
"What you call a bed is a rectangle of stone; that's the same material as the floor. I don't want it anyway, Adolin declared before leaning against the steel bars, staring at the closed door."

Well. That didn't go as well as expected. Adolin didn't usually lock himself away for just anyone's sake - actually, he never did – and considering who he was and the influence he had, you'd think the lad would be a bit happier for what he did. Storming man. Wasn't Kaladin happy that someone actually cared? From the way the captain looked at him, he seemed to think that Adolin's plan was foolish. Although Adolin had been quite satisfied with himself when he had the idea. Not only would it rid him of the guilt he felt towards Kaladin's fate, but it also ensured they would both get out fairly quickly. Moreover, people would surely miss him, and ladies would speak about his boldness and bravery for weeks to come, which was always good. Everything worked just perfectly. Well, apart from the days spent prison themselves, which would surely be quite dull. And yes, a bed would have been nice. But no matter, it wouldn't last long. Dalinar wouldn't allow it.

He hadn't spoke about his plan with his Father beforehand, for he knew Dalinar would disapprove. Adolin going to prison signified he openly disagreed with the king's decision and that would only weaken Elhokar. Which wasn't good. Surely, his father would scold him but he would still do his best to get him out as soon as possible.

Adolin glanced at Kaladin, who seemed to mope alone at the back of the cell. Well… almost alone. As it was often the case, a small windspren seemed to float and glide around him. It was weird, a windspren, here in prison. Then again, a lot of things were weird about Kaladin. His constant foul mood, for one. Adolin wondered what the other man was thinking about.

Hours passed in silence in what was now Kaladin and Adolin's cell. Just like he warned Adolin, Kaladin had claimed the bed and spent most of his time observing the courtyard through the window. When a guard brought them food, Kaladin simply asked:

"Why is this man in my cell?"  
"Brightlord Adolin insisted. So long as you are in here, he won't leave," replied the jailer. "We tried to stop him, but the man's a prince. We can't make him do anything, not even leave. Now that he locked himself in this cell, we just have to live with it."  
"Can I do anything about it?"  
"No."

Undeniably, Kaladin was a strange man. Adolin had just told him why he was in a cell with him a few hours ago. Didn't he believe him?

Several more hours passed before Kaladin spoke to him.

"Why are you here? I ruined your chance to duel Sadeas."  
"I'd be crippled or dead without you," Adolin said. "So I wouldn't have had the chance to fight Sadeas anyway."

He paused for a second and looked at Kaladin.

"Besides," he continued, "you saved Renarin."  
"It's my job."  
"Then we need to pay you more, bridgeboy. Because I don't know if I've ever met another man who would jump, unarmored, into a fight among six Shardbearers."

There was another pause before Kaladin spoke again.

"I'm sorry," he said. "For ruining the plan."  
"Bah, you didn't ruin it. Elhokar did that. You think he couldn't have simply ignored your request and proceeded, letting me expand on my challenge to Sadeas? He threw a tantrum instead of taking control of the crowd and pushing forward. Storming man."

Kaladin blinked at the prince's audacious tone, then glanced toward the door, to make sure no one could hear them. Talking against your king wasn't something you wanted to do with unwanted ears around. Storms, Kadalin had spoken once about a noble who wasn't even a highprince in front of a crowd and _that_ got him in prison! Adolin asked him about how he had been treated so far. Kaladin simply shrugged.

"No, seriously," Adolin pressed, "how have you been since the fight?"  
"Why do you care?"  
"I don't! I just want to know. Make a little conversation. Tell me your story, now, that's an order."

Pffff. Orders. As if the princeling was in a position to order anything while they were both locked up in here.

"Fine. A man went to jail. He hated it there. The end."  
"Ah… So it's a story about a grumpy, irritable baby," mocked Adolin.

Despite his mockery, he still looked relieved.

"No, it's about –"

Kaladin cut off. _Me._

Of course… Adolin asked him to see if he had been hurt during the duel. That's why the prince himself didn't look so great, because of his wounds resulting from the fight. Kaladin had healed himself with stormlight but that hadn't been the case for Adolin. And Adolin's shardplate was half-destroyed by the end of the duel, he probably put up with a few hammer shocks that bruised him despite the armor. How could he not have picked that up? He should have been the one to ask. Well. Adolin looked alive, did he? That was enough caring for today. Kaladin didn't bother returning the question. Storm it! Adolin hadn't only been here a few hours and he was already annoying him greatly. He rose from his seated spot against the wall and walked briskly to the stone bed. He hesitated, then threw one of the blankets and the pillow down to the floor for the prince, and put himself to bed. Better sleep to stop thinking about this mess.


	4. Day 4: Cellmates

Thanks again to my beta Kai/3351 who read over this chapter!

All constructive criticism and/or advice and/or comment about general appreciation is extremely appreciated.

* * *

Kaladin

Kaladin woke to the sound of someone panting heavily, along with a thumping noise, which was weird because it was usually silent in his cell. He opened his eyes to the sight of Adolin Kholin doing push-ups at a staggering rate by his side. Right. He now shared his cell with the obnoxious princeling. Apparently, even in prison, one couldn't find peace. And apparently, the princeling was pressed to work out, even if they had the whole day ahead of them with absolutely nothing to do. The blond seemed to notice he was awake, because he interrupted his set of exercises to speak.

"Sorry about the noise. Can't let prison get me out of shape. Hope you don't mind."

He looked relaxed, but he spoke in short sentences, breathing in within each one, as if to hide the fact that he was out of breath. Kaladin growled and said:

"You could have done your little exercises anytime. In case you didn't know, there's no schedule in this prison. It's not like you're going to be busy for the rest of the day. Could've let me sleep."  
"Actually, I like to start the day this way. It's energizing. Keeps me well."  
"Humph," was Kaladin's only reply.

So Prince Adolin Kholin woke up early to train. If Teft had wagered with him, Kaladin would have bet the princeling stayed in bed with whoever shared his mattress in the mornings. Not this. At the very least, he didn't expect the princeling to wake earlier than he did himself. Maybe that was simply the consequence of sleeping on the floor, it wasn't particularly tempting to stay in bed.

"You should do the same," continued Adolin while starting a new series of push-ups. "Keep active."

He was right. Not only it would keep him in shape, but it would also busy his mind. He should have done so since his first day in prison. Plus, he needed to be in shape the day he got out of here. Because he would get out. He had acted as if he had forgotten. He hated the fact that he had needed Adolin to remind him of that. Displeased, he stepped off of the bench and began to copy Adolin's movements. They trained for what Kaladin estimated as a good two hours before Adolin stopped counting series aloud and sat down against the wall.

"Already tired, Brightlord?" Kaladin snickered.  
"Don't call me that."  
"What? 'Brightlord'? You've never seemed bothered by anyone calling you 'Brightlord' before. Everyone calls you Brightlord all the time!"  
"From your mouth, it sounds like an insult."

It was. Lighteyes and their perquisite birthrights and ranks, the Heralds knew what he thought of them.

"What am I to call you then? Cellmate? Blondie?"  
"My own name will suffice. Adolin. At least for the time we're in prison."

Adolin. Right. That sounded weird.

Breakfast came, along with bandages and some sweet-smelling plant paste. Medication, probably mixed with flowery vegetation to cover the smell; something Kaladin had never worked with. They were way too expensive. His father preferred to buy more supplies, rather than fewer nice smelling ones.

"I think these are for me," Adolin said pointing at the bandages. "Renarin probably sent them, he knew I planned to get in here".

Kaladin nodded and picked up one of the food bowls. On his part, Adolin removed his blue coat and shirt, revealing a large bandage across his chest and around his left shoulder. As he unwrapped it, Kaladin pursed his lips at the sight. An enormous purplish bruise ate all of Adolin's left side. It must have occurred during the fight. Bruises changed colors over time in a predictable pattern, and the blue-and-purple color indicated the blood under the skin had begun healing as it had changed from its original reddish color. This couldn't be more than a few days old. Even in Shardplate, one couldn't avoid the consequences of taking a hit. At the shoulder, a bunch of tiny red dots were clustered together, indicating the bandage was too tight and caused pressure on the skin.

"You should eat before touching any of that," said Kaladin. "It isn't clean. Don't want to infect what you eat".

"I'm in prison, Mr. Know-it-All. Everything I touch is already dirty. Besides, there's no blood outside. It's only a bruise."

 _And a serious one,_ thought Kaladin. Even bruises could get infected. Although he didn't exactly know why, some of them could clog and turn solid instead of dissolving. It wasn't good when that happened. Despite its gigantic size and ugly color, Adolin's bruise looked healthy. He grit his teeth as he removed the last part of the bandage, which stuck to his skin a little.

"Still," Kaladin continued, "It's good practice."  
"Keep your advice for when it's actually useful," snapped Adolin while drawing in a sharp breath.  
"Yeah. It's wasted on someone as stubborn as you."

Adolin only tightened his lips in response. He closed his eyes and placed his hands on the floor. He was trembling a little. The sight of his own bruised chest seemed to unsettle him. He drew another breath, opened his eyes again and started to apply paste over the wound. He was doing a butcher's job, not applying the paste thoroughly where it was necessary, brushing over darker parts of the bruise, and being generally inefficient. Kaladin swallowed the last bite of his breakfast and set his bowl aside before approaching.

"Let me do it," he said.

Adolin raised his gaze to meet his eyes and shook his head.

"I'm a surgeon's son," Kaladin added.  
"Which means you're not a surgeon yourself."  
"I've been trained. I'll be faster and more meticulous. You can barely see what you're doing under your arm and on the side of your back."

Adolin gave him a fiery look, but understood the logic in Kaladin's argument and lowered his hand. He eyed the other man, wary of him touching the injury. Nonetheless, Kaladin picked up some sweet-scented paste and started working his way around the bruise. Adolin hissed a few times as he passed on the more sensitive spots, but mainly he seemed to concentrate on keeping from showing any reaction at all. When Kaladin started pressing on the bruise to help the paste penetrate, Adolin tensed and stared indignantly at the force of Kaladin's massage. With a hoarse voice, he growled:

"What-are-you-doing?"  
"Rubbing the paste in will help it infiltrate the skin. You should also ask for hot water and apply a compress three times a day, it will help the blood resorb faster into the skin."  
"We're in prison, you cremling-brained surgeon. I doubt they even have hot water in the building. Are you done torturing me?" said Adolin, throwing his head back for a breath of air.

Kaladin thought that if the princeling was able to convince jailers to lock him in the cell, he could surely persuade them to bring a little hot water every day. However, his stiff face and tightened lips indicated that Adolin couldn't take it anymore. Kaladin finished stroking the section he had started and removed his hands. He wiped them on the bandages, gathered what was left of the paste and spread it on the fabric before wrapping it around Adolin's chest.

"I can do that myself" said the princeling.  
"You've strained your own shoulder with unbalanced compression. Stop being uncooperative and let me finish."  
"I've been VERY accommodating! You've poked me through the whole process!"  
"It's not my fault you're so feeble!"  
"The bruise puts pressure on my lung you idiot, it's hard to even breathe normally!"  
"Using the words a surgeon told you as an excuse, are you? Well maybe if you had not trained all morning and rested, it would be have been a little better. And to think you planned to embark on a second duel with this wound untreated. You really are careless."  
"WHAT IS IT WITH EVERYBODY ACCUSING ME OF BEING CARELESS? WHO ARE YOU TO TALK, JUMPING AROUND IMPULSIVELY ALL THE TIME?"  
"It's my job to protect you."  
"Well I'm FINE. Focus on something else."

Fortunately, Kaladin had finished tying the bandage strips before the end of their argument and simply backed off. Princeling wanted to be sulk alone? Fine by him. Kaladin didn't mind being alone. Still, something bugged him.

"You should tend to your finger too. Otherwise it won't heal properly." He said to the princeling from the far end of the cell. He got no answer.

Adolin fumbled with his shirt as he put it back on rapidly and retreated to his spot near the bars. Both of them had seemed to have established their sides of the cell now. Kaladin often remained on the stone bench near the window, alternating between siting and raising himself to observe whatever was outside. The courtyard had always been empty so far, it was probably an unused area, constructed to allow only a few openings into the prison cells. Adolin stood near the steel bars in the middle of the cell, and faced the door most of the time. Time passed by.

Kaladin didn't speak to Syl much. He didn't want Adolin to hear them talk. Besides, she seemed fine busying herself with discovering all the interesting things that lay in a prison; currently, the growing stain on his cellmate's blue coat.

"Princeling - "  
"I'm not in the mood to talk."  
"Yes, but - "  
"I said, keep your reprimands for some other time. In fact, keep them to yourself, that would be just great."

 _Storms, that man was stubborn._  
"Adol - "  
"SHUT UP."  
"You're bleeding all over your coat. I think your nail fell off."  
"STORM IT!" the blond roared.

He looked down at his hand, and his eyes grew wide. It was red with blood. Briskly, he turned towards Kaladin and asked:  
"What do I do now?"  
"Stop the bleeding. Press on the wound and elevate your finger. Then wait." He paused. "Don't worry, nails grow back."

Adolin did as instructed and added with a vexed air:  
"I stained my uniform."  
"You'll buy yourself a new one."

Adolin sighed and went back to contemplating the door, awkwardly holding both his arms over his head. He was a tall man, his hands almost touched the ceiling. He didn't look like he belonged in this cell. Prison tended to make people seem smaller and weaker, but it didn't work on him. Despite his affliction and annoyed air, he simply looked oversized and out of place, like he didn't belong.

"I'll sleep on the floor tonight." Kaladin said. "Tomorrow it'll be your turn again."

Adolin looked at him and nodded in agreement. Kaladin took it as a sign of appreciation and settled himself under the blanket.


	5. Day 5: Storm

Thanks again to my beta Kai/3351 who read over this chapter!

All constructive criticism and/or advice and/or comment about general appreciation is extremely appreciated.

* * *

Adolin

Kaladin talked in his sleep. Not loudly; he mumbled more than anything, but Adolin had always been a light sleeper and it woke him all the same. The darkeyed man did not appear to annunciate any coherent sentences. From his spot on the stone bench – after tonight, he absolutely refused to call this thing a bed – Adolin observed the other man sleeping just below him. Kaladin didn't look the same when he slept. He had a different air about him. He looked… at peace. That didn't happen very often. Adolin supposed that being preoccupied was part of a bodyguard's job. Would Kaladin's face look different if he didn't spend so much time worrying about other people? How did he look before Adolin met him? Well, younger obviously. These were pointless questions. He tried to go back to sleep.

He woke up again at the sound of a loud thunderclap, which reverberated about the cell. _Highstorm_. He wasn't getting any more sleep tonight. Not with those rumbling sounds coming into the cell from the window. The whole courtyard seemed to act as a sound box for the storm, amplifying the noise. As if a highstorm wasn't loud enough already.

His finger had stopped bleeding. That was good. Though without a nail it looked ugly. Disgustingly ugly. Adolin found it distasteful. How long did it take for nails to grow back? It couldn't be that long, right? He only hoped it would look better before he got out of prison. He didn't want to walk around with this poor excuse of a finger. It wasn't proper. Or glamourous. Or anything but extremely ugly actually. At least, it felt numb and didn't hurt, so he wouldn't complain. Well… he wouldn't complain too much.

He pushed himself into a sitting position against the wall. Contrastingly, his side still hurt. A lot. It was infinitely better than when he first removed his Shardplate after the Thrill had faded but it still throbbed with pain every time he breathed. He tried to breathe out as slowly as possible, so he didn't have to breathe in so often. Each inhalation in itself wasn't that bad, but he was extremely tired of aching all the time. It exacerbated the pain. He'd taken serious hits before, but he always forgot how long the healing process took. It seemed longer every time. Was he already growing old? Stormfather! What was wrong with him? He sounded like an old man rambling out poor sayings about life. He didn't have to ruminate so much just because he was in prison!

He wasn't surprised to notice that Kaladin was awake too. Very few people could actually sleep during a highstorm. The other man was moving his lips ever so slightly, as if whispering, but Adolin couldn't catch any of his chattering with all the noise from the rain. Who was he talking to? Bah. Adolin didn't blame him. All men had different ways of dealing with solitude. He hadn't pegged Kaladin for the one with the imaginary friend though. In any case, it was difficult to size up Kaladin.

He himself liked to invent absurd stories. What if Sadeas had to live the rest of his life as a cremling? What tricks could he and Renarin have pulled off if they were twins? Childish, he knew, but it was fun. He had picked up the habit as a boy and it stayed with him. He liked to invent titles too. Plants VS Highstorms: A war. The plants stood no chance. His next story could be titled Bridgeboy: The Life of Kaladin. The man intrigued him.

The bulk of the storm passed and breakfast came. Although he didn't like to depend on another person in this way, Adolin let Kaladin replace his bandages again. He had to admit this shoulder wrap had been much more comfortable than the one Adolin had made for himself before. At least, the so-called surgeon didn't scold him this time. He had fallen back into his customary quiet. Not that Adolin minded the silence too much, but he did like a companion who could hold a conversation. Dates with quiet and overly shy lighteyed woman who did nothing but blush every time he spoke bored him. He liked to be challenged a little, to laugh and finish the night enjoying a cup of blue wine. Well, prison was nothing like a date it seemed. Then again, he didn't expect it to be.

He began his work-out routine and Kaladin joined him shortly. Although he was tired, it felt good to move his limbs. It seemed they grew sorer from the immobility than from exercise. After he stopped training, Kaladin continued for a good while until he seemed particularly exhausted. He then started pacing around the room, hands on his head. He walked briskly, as if he was late for something, as if he wanted to run, but their cell left very little room for running around. Just watching him drained Adolin's energy.

"What are you doing?" he asked the roaming man.  
"Nothing. Anything. What do you think I'm doing? There's nothing to do here!"

 _Not in a good mood then. Not like that's anything new, though._

"What are you thinking about then?"

Kaladin shot him a fuming look, as if he had interrupted something important.

"I was thinking about how nice and quiet it was before a certain lighteye invaded my cell."  
"Hey there bridgeboy, I did this for you."  
"Didn't ask you too."

 _Storms. This again._ Why was Kaladin so mad at him? He wasn't the one who threw the guy in prison! He was the one trying to help! At any rate, it didn't matter. It wasn't like he could walk out of jail and go back now. Returning to the military quarters after only two days of protesting, without any results? That sounded even sillier than coming to prison in the first place. No. Now that he was here, he was going to stay. Even he was stuck with the worst, ungrateful, snotty cellmate in all of Alekthar.


	6. Day 6: Peace

Thanks again to my beta Kai/3351 who read over this chapter!

All constructive criticism and/or advice and/or comment about general appreciation is extremely appreciated.

Again, some parts of this chapter are almost directly from the book, especially towards the end. Credits to Sanderson.

* * *

Kaladin

It's strange how quickly habits settled in prison. As he and Adolin trained, Kaladin felt like he followed a well-rounded routine. He had fallen into automatic mode: Train. Eat. Change Adolin's bandage. Ensure the blond looked sound. Train. Walk. Check on Adolin. Train. Walk. Check. Train. Walk. Check. Train. Walk. Check. Eat if there was something to eat. Repeat.

Sometimes, bursts of restlessness rose inside of him and shook him hard. He wanted to yell, he wanted to move, he wanted to… he didn't know. He felt like he wanted to explode from the inside, but no amount of outward movement of his limbs could satisfy his thirst for discharge. Walking was best. Adolin complained he was stomping rather than strolling (which Kaladin had claimed he was doing) but the princeling was the one who decided to come into his cell in the first place, so he might as well endure Kaladin walking whichever way he wanted to.

Walking helped. In the end, it wore him out and it was way easier to let his thoughts wonder when exhausted. Images became vivid more quickly and he could half-forget where he was, without even really sleeping. He had discovered the trick as a slave: when worn out, he didn't have to think so hard to reconstruct memories. They came naturally. He could just let himself be carried away by more or less coherent reveries. He liked to travel back to Hearthstone. Later places in his life often lead to some kind of languishing nostalgia, which made him depressed and discouraged in fearful ways. Even Hearthstone sometimes brought him these emotions, but less often than most. Images of Tien from the past still succeeded in comforting him. He liked to watch his father work; listing procedures and ingredients. It was calm. Soothing.

He emerged from one of his exhaustion-induced trances as the light coming from the window completely faded. End of the day. He'd have to walk again if he wanted to fall asleep quickly tonight. He felt oddly calm. He looked at Adolin, whose arms dangled through the steel bars. _How is it that I haven't yelled at him today yet? Is he somewhat less insufferable than usual or am I just too tired to get upset?_

He heard a familiar 'click' and the door to their cell opened. A jailer entered, pushed food through the steel bars and left. Adolin sighed, unhooked his arms from the bars and grabbed a bowl of vegetables in orange sauce. He handed the other one to Kaladin, along with some flatbread.

"Do they ever give us eating utensils?" he asked.  
"No. Everybody knows how easily one could escape from prison with a spoon in his hands," said Kaladin, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "And don't ask me like I'm some prison-expert. I've only been here two days more than you."

Ah. There it was. His exasperation towards the lighteyes was back.

"You've never been to prison before?"

Kaladin rolled his eyes.

"No."

What did Adolin think he was? Criminal scum?

"How did you end up in the bridge crew then?"  
"Anybody could've done anything to end up in there. Could've put some chull dung in Sadeas' food."

Adolin laughed. A good, low-pitched laugh that seemed to fill the whole room.

"Did someone really do that?"  
"Yeah."  
"And it got him in the bridge crew?"  
"Yeah."  
"Damn." Adolin chuckled again. "Sadeas can't take a joke."  
"Most lighteyes can't take a joke."

Adolin smiled, but didn't counter. When a lighteyes thought their honor had been mocked or tainted, they often reacted severely. Even he must have realized that.

"So what did _you_ do?"

Kaladin locked his eyes with Adolin's blue ones.

"I killed a lighteyes" he said flatly.

Adolin didn't seem shocked or startled or anything. He didn't know why, but Kaladin had expected some kind of reaction. Adolin didn't seem to have any.

"Why?" he asked.  
"I was a soldier in Amaram's army. The guy was on the other side of the battle field."  
"So you killed an enemy of higher rank than you. I fail to see the big problem in that."  
"It was a Shardbearer."

There, he said it.

It felt strange. Very very strange. He didn't even knew why he said it. He got used to telling his story without mentioning the Shardbearer. Nobody ever believed him anyway and he didn't want to end up, well… in prison.

At least, that incited a reaction. Adolin's mouth was open, as if to say 'how?' but he closed it fast enough. Then, he grew stern. He frowned and appeared to contemplate the floor profoundly. Finally, he raised his head again and composed a neutral mask on his face.

"So the things you said about Amaram," he said. "They were true?"  
"Every one."

Adolin nodded.

"That's where his Shards came from," he added.

He had done the math. Kaladin couldn't find it in himself to voice a 'yes' to confirm, but his silence spoke for himself. He inclined his head once. A nod. A yes.

"I've always wondered what that man was hiding," Adolin continued.  
"Wait," Kaladin said, "you believe me?"  
"My father," Adolin said, "is the best man I know, perhaps the best man alive. Even he loses his temper, makes bad judgment calls, and has a troubled past. Amaram never seems to do anything wrong. If you listen to the stories about him, it's like everyone expects him to glow in the dark and piss nectar. That stinks, to me, of someone who works too hard to maintain his reputation."

There was a silent pause.

"Your father says I shouldn't have tried to duel him," said Kaladin.  
"Yeah. Dueling is formalized in a way I suspect you just don't get. A darkeyes can't challenge a man like Amaram, and you certainly shouldn't have done it like you did. It embarrassed the king, like spitting on a gift he'd given you." Adolin hesitated. "But, it doesn't mean you weren't right or that you didn't speak the truth. If I were you, I would probably have done the same."  
"It shouldn't matter if I'm a darkeyes. I deserved a boon as much as you."  
"Maybe," said Adolin. "But you know what my father would say? He'd say that you're not going to change that by resisting authority, revolting against traditions, kicking and yelling around like a madman. He'd said you should distinguish yourself in what you do best. Be the kind of man others admire. The kind of man other can follow, lighteyed or dark. Make the most of the fact he made you a captain. Show them a darkeyes can lead. That will change the world. Don't get yourself killed by yelling at the wrong people impudently."  
"Humph."  
"I know my father has some excessive ideas about how one should behave or about changing the world. But he is honorable and righteous. I find he's right more often than not. I find that more and more."

That ended their chat for the night.


End file.
